Starfall
by Oran T
Summary: The new foreboding year at Ravenwood School of the Magical Arts poses more problems to the witches and wizards there, especially when a new face is sorted into a school that hasn't existed for thousands of years. Drama, intrigue, and rivalry all boil in this epic saga of young spellcasters awaiting to become the best in their class. Fantasy, Drama, Romance, Comedy
1. Prelude

**Prelude**

Lonesome moonlight descended upon Ravenwood with a silvery smile of sadness. Throughout the school grounds, all was silent. The whisper of the spring wind would pass one way, and then turn another, treacherous to its promise, and the occasional hoot of an owl whisked away in the quiet circle that was supposed to be bubbling with life.

It was a curiosity to see Ravenwood School of Magical Arts so silent as to be dead, but those who attended knew that the School had been shut down, due to the recent events of the Spiral.

Many wizards and witches spiral-wide had celebrated the long-anticipated defeat of Malistaire Drake, whose death had prevented the waking of a terrible Titan in Dragonspyre whose slumber numbered thousands of years.

But to one particular wizard who alone stood in front of the giant sleeping Grandfather Tree in brooding silence, it had not been as big a celebration. This was Cyrus Drake, the head Professor for the School of Myth at Ravenwood, and the twin brother to the man who nearly put the whole Spiral in mortal danger.

Cyrus was a tall man, garbed from shoulder to toe in draping yellow-canary robes lined with pale blue trims. He had a long, solemn face, with such resolve that it rivaled steel, framing two sapphire-blue eyes that drank the light out of a room. His head bore no hair, and had, because of the moon, a crown of silver that winked off it quite brilliantly.

The downcast Cyrus had been waiting for some time in the darkness, under the leafy cover of Bartleby's emerald leaves. The other three were not late, per say, but he always took pride in being early to things, no matter the importance.

It was not until an owl, clad in pearl-white feathers, swooped down underneath the canopy of Bartleby, did he discover he was not alone.

"Headmaster," anticipated the unmoving Myth Professor.

The sudden plume of outstretched stars painted the night in purples and yellows, giving way to a slouching wizard with a hat that corkscrewed upwards, making him look two feet taller than he actually was. Robes dappled with stars and moons clung to him like a drawn shadow, and a fairly large monocle that sheathed his left eye glinted white from the moon.

"Cyrus," the man said, smiling softly. "You are early."

"As always, Headmaster Ambrose," the myth professor, whose face was still unassuming, said. "I assume the two boys are both safe from harm?"

The one named Ambrose shuffled up the cobblestone pathway, raising his arm for his snowy owl, Gamma, to land upon. It hooted with content as it cocked its head towards Professor Drake, watching him with pale, yellow eyes. "They are both safe, for now." Gamma hooted once, flapping his wings, as the Headmaster smiled. "I assumed you would have still been at the Crown of Fire, Cyrus, but my judgement seems to have been wrong."

The Myth Professor, who stiffened at the Headmaster's comment, quietly scoffed. "What's done is done."

"You do understand why it had to be done, Cyrus?" the Headmaster asked.

Cyrus Drake stood there a moment, regarding the wizened headmaster with anxious eyes. "I have theories, each one as ridiculous as the next."

"I am curious," the Headmaster said, scratching his head through the ridiculously tall wizard hat. "You were there with him when Malistaire was at his end, so I find it only fitting to ask if he had asked anything of you. A parting wish, perhaps?"

The Myth Professor paused. A sudden look of fear flushed out his face before he straightened himself, and cleared his throat.

"I see," the Headmaster said, bowing his head slightly. "You need not humor me on what it was. I know you have been taking his death very harshly."

"Headmaster, I-"

"Do not fret," His lone cerulean eye winked with a light of anticipation as he raised his voice. "Even in the darkest of places, fire still burns brightly." He coughed once, softly, turning to the dark behind them. "As always, you are looking as lovely as ever, Professor Falmea."

And from the darkness, Dalia Falmea, the Professor of the Fire School, popped out from behind the sleeping body of Bartleby. Ruby red robes swathed her hourglass figure, and her hair was let loose, waving in the air like a giant unkempt flame. "Ambrose," she bowed her head to the Headmaster, and then a little more grudgingly to the Myth Professor. "Cyrus."

Cyrus saw the contempt in her eyes as she walked forward; an angry flame in them that kindled when she set sight on him. He could only guess that she did not trust him; not now, not ever.

The Headmaster peered from one professor to the other, and patted both on the shoulders. "Ah, Professors, look how far we have come! Please, be happy, the Spiral is safe for now!"

"For now," Dalia repeated thinly.

"You cannot judge one side of the moon for it's darker half," Ambrose lectured in a tone of finality, though he was still smiling. "As for the protection of the boys," Ambrose continued. "You both are tasked with watching over them."

"Where are they now?" Professor Falmea prompted. She still kept an eye on Cyrus, as if he were to pull a wand out any instant and blow the two of them up.

Headmaster Ambrose shuffled past both professors to approach Bartleby. He extended an arm to touch the Grandfather tree tenderly with a sad look on his face. "One boy I have retrieved from the depths of Celestia; the other from the abandoned academy in Dragonspyre. But they cannot stay here for long. Even the moon casts shadows in the night. That is why we need to move them. Separate them. Make sure they do not know who they are until the time is right."

"How do you propose we do that?" Falmea asked, her hair undulating like moonfire in the night.

His smile seemed to tell it all.

* * *

 _"Save her!"_

The crack of the staff was all he remembered. He had rushed to her, catching her falling body before it hit the cobblestone floor.

 _"Ros! Roslyn!"_

 _Crack._ The staff slammed against the floor. That's all he remembered. And Jon's face. He remembered the Pyromancer's face.

 _"I'm here Ros… Ros, look at me, look! I'm here, see? There's nothing wrong - JUSTIN SAVE HER!"_ He remembered Jon wrapping his hands around her stray hand. It had been hanging from her body at an unnatural angle. _He didn't want to think she had died by that point._

But he tried anyways. He pressed the point of his yew wand to her chest, and the runic carvings on it kindled an irate emerald. He remembered closing his eyes at that point, thinking of the sweet harmony of life.

His thoughts brought him back to an orchard he had visited often when he was a child. He felt his feet sink into the damp grass, smelt the keen scent of maple and ripe fruit, praised the late summer sun that sifted through the morning fog to tickle his bare back. _Deep breaths_. Breathing kept a cap on his childhood excitement. _Let it go too much and you fizzle,_ he reminded himself. He was running through the orchard, jumping over the stone pads, making sure not to touch the grass because he imagined it was lava. A child's game, no doubt. _Don't let it overflow._ The whisper of a song started to play in his head, but it was too soft for him to echo. So he squinted his eyes in concentration, gripping his wand even tighter, and delved further. The stone path wound around a single fountain that spewed water from its top spaded spout. He had skipped halfway around it before casting his head backwards. _Don't lose control_. The harmony approached with a slight crescendo. A familiar tune swirled from the choir in his head, and caught his thoughts and emotions in a suspension that seemed to prolong time itself.

He began to sing. A warmth opened up in the pit of his stomach, and he was filled with it. The feeling spread, tingling in his fingers and reaching down to his curling toes, swirling about in his head and finally filling his heart. When he simply embraced this feeling he felt only one thing: a calm joy. Yet if he dug deeper and deeper, he could start to distinctly dissect this one broad feeling into a maze of smaller emotions, broken and layered out with every corner he turned.

The tune in his head was forte now, yet kept a legato frame. He mimicked it with his voice, doing his best to transfer the feeling that was thawing his insides to the outside world. _Because the outside world needs these feelings shared like man needs water._

 _Water._ The thought caused a small disturbance in the melodic contour of his song. He remembered the fountain spewing water from its spout. He was halfway around the fountain before casting his head backwards. He remembered.

A small boy was following after him, clumsily falling over his feet every few steps. A look of ignorant joy and indistinct awareness was carved into the boy's face. He saw that after every fall into the grass he would pick himself back up, face contorted in determination, and try once again, his face resuming the ignorant bliss that draped him like a cloak.

And then the deepest feeling hit him, like the final blow of a hammer onto an anvil. The boy was approaching, and with it their eyes met. The feeling was screaming in the back confines of his diaphram now, trying to send its message across his body - against the current of warmth that fulfilled him - to his heart. The boy, after succeeding in his trial of error, finally landed on the stone adjacent to his and fell into him with a hug. _"I did it! I did it just like you!"_

His younger brother looked up to him after having his face buried in his shirt for a few moments. His toothy grin and unbridled giggle somehow forced him to hold him tighter. _Keep your mind controlled,_ he urged to himself. But he didn't want to let go. He could feel himself slipping. _Deep breaths, just keep breathing… in and out…_

His wand was a bright blur of green, channeling the pulsing spell into her lifeless body. Seconds passed. Nothing happened. Nevertheless he kept himself wrapped around the memory like a snake.

And then it came like a drum, deep and slow.

 _Bum-bum… bum-bum...bum-bum._ He felt the heart of the lifeless girl in his arms start to beat again. She inhaled deeply, drinking air in an exasperated gulp, reaching her fingers for Jon's face. Justin stared dumbfoundedly at her.

 _"Jon… I'm scared,"_ she managed to breath out. Tears were welling up in her eyes. The look on her face told one that she had seen something that no living creature had ever come to see… that she was somehow more knowledgeable now than she had ever been.

 _"Don't be scared…"_ Jon said reassuringly, his voice cracking with emotion. _"I'm right here… see? There's nothing to be afraid about! I'm here!"_ The Pyromancer forced the corners of his mouth to go upward. He kissed her forehead with a passion Justin had not seen from him before.

 _"Jon…"_ she muttered, trickling her fingers one-by-one down his face as they gathered together into a fist and pressed gently against his heart. She was panicking, foraging for words. _"I love…"_

Justin remembered the crack of the staff on the pavement, and his mind shattered. _Crack._ He winced in pain, and his wand backfired against him, propelling him backwards and breaking the song's touch on her life.

 _"Ros? No... Ros! Ros... I'm here... hey... look! Roslyn! Wake up! I'm here! Justin... where did she go?! WHAT DID YOU DO? SHE WAS ALIVE!"_

But the only thing he heard was the loud crack of the staff on the pavement, the sound of the spell that had ended her life still vibrating against his heart and memory. The voice behind the spell was cold, vengeful, selfish. He still remembered the fulgent flash of violet light across Malistaire's opalescent eyes as it sprang in a jet to hit her straight in the heart. _"MORS MORTEM!"_

"Enough."

There was a sudden emptiness in his stomach as he was propelled backwards, flying across a void of endless colors. The colors dispersed and then reconnected, stilling around certain shapes he started to recognize. It was soon enough that the Life wizard, Justin Lifeleaf, found himself sitting in the headquarters of the Headmaster's tower, dizzy and dazed beyond belief.

The voice came from the other side of the room. The boy who said it had his face drawn up in a nasty snarl, his eyes a furious green, serpent-like…

The others were all spread out in different places, either crouching down or leaning back against something. In the middle of the room an hourglass sat on a pedestal. This hourglass thrummed every second, as if it were measuring time with a beat, and the white-fire sand within it seemed to liquify and run against its shape, creating distortions whenever Justin looked at - or through - it. A perverse array of light spiraled around the hourglass, spanning the girth of the room. At some points in this spiral the light would congeal into a shard of an image, however small, of a plane of existence, and then continue on its winding path around the room.

Justin was at a loss for words when he finally took a good look around the room. The spiraling light cast dancing images on the others, touching the grim features on their faces as most made sure not to make eye contact with one another.

From the other side of the room, Digby Strongheart pushed himself off the wall. "I think that's enough for one night," he said sternly, looking at Jonathan hesitantly.

"You are done when the Headmaster wills it," a cold voice said from behind Justin. The room full of wizards suddenly cast their eyes to the lone wizard and teacher, Cyrus Drake, who had just entered, wearing a vacant expression.

Destiny Dreampetal was frowning when she responded. "We've done the bloody memory three times, I think we understand the series of events that unfolded after our fight with Malistaire."

"Apparently not," Cyrus said disdainfully, leering over her, "since you, as a team, have not yet been able to survive the memory for its whole duration. The Supreme Seven…" he said in a mock tone, scowling. "The Seven Wizards who were able to kill the Master of Death, not able to finish a simple memory. Pathetic."

"There were eight wizards-" Alex Jaderider started.

"You will be remembered as some of the most renowned spellcasters of the Spiral," Cyrus continued on aggressively. "You cannot be weak. Not now. Not anymore."

"Sometimes we need to be weak in order for ourselves to grow back stronger," Malorn Ashthorn retorted.

"There has been time for weakness," Cyrus said impatiently, "plenty of it. If you still think this is a time for mourning, then none of you understand the point of the exercise. You are all supposed to be Teacher Assistants now for the Ravenwood Academy of Magical Arts. If the Headmaster were to be informed of your progress right now, he'd be outraged…"

"Headmaster Ambrose would not get mad-"

"Do not speak of Headmaster Ambrose as if you know him," Cyrus seethed. "I am one of his closest confidants. I know him better than all of you combined."

"We need more time," pleaded Digby.

"You've had time. The School's been shut down for a year now. We cannot stay closed for another year, otherwise we will lose students to other Academies. The Headmaster needs your eyes and ears now more than ever, especially for the future."

"Speaking of the Headmaster," Cyrus continued, shifting his eyes on Justin, "he would like to see Mr. Lifeleaf in his office at once." With a quick turn on his heels, the Myth Professor exited the tower once more.

* * *

Time came like a blur to the young life wizard.

"Come along, Justin."

Light hummed from the tip of Justin Lifeleaf's wand; a feeble emerald that carved out the narrow dimensions of the hall. Like a giant fluorescent orb, its gibbous-shape draped him and his companion as they traversed the maze-like pathway. They walked and it punctured the archaic walls, spilling light into crevices that had not been touched by it for years, glossing over cobwebs that sowed them together, and sifting over spiral designs that had lost their luster over time. A cold damp fog took camp in the air, one that reminded Justin of a gentle morning after a storm. The sharp serenade of crickets was not as loud as it was before. That had only meant they were getting close.

His companion moved slowly; he had to at such an old age. He wore dark violet robes, decorated with astral symbols of yellow and orange. Shuffling with a slight limp, he leaned most of his weight onto his golden-tipped staff. Coiled between its hook-like end was a glistening round crystal, its sheen fluttering against the desperate face of its holder.

Justin Lifeleaf could not describe the man he was treading with in one sentence. When he looked upon the grizzled face of Headmaster Merle Ambrose, he could not help but both smile and feel his stomach drop at the same time. This man was the most powerful wizard in the spiral. That he knew. That he could not forget. And the mere fact that he was with him, on important business - the fact that the Headmaster even chose him - was such a galvanizing stroke to his humility. Yet, at the same time, behind the tangled beard of snow-white and wrinkles of experience and age, the young life wizard could see a certain urgency in the wizened Headmaster's visage. That's what scared him most.

This was all too abrupt for him; the sudden waking in the middle of the night, the mysterious demeanor of the faculty, the strained focus on keeping quiet. He was starting to grow worried, but also excited. Wasn't it all over? Wasn't Malistaire dead? He wanted to ask what was wrong, but something between fear and nervousness lodged itself in his throat, keeping him from speaking.

So instead the sound of soft boots whisking away against the floor echoed throughout the chamber, along with the cadenced beat of an oak staff. It had been that way for some time.

Until they walked into a fork in the tunnel.

"Which way…" the headmaster mumbled to himself, closing his one eye to think. The other was shielded by a monocle that flashed violently against the wandlight. Justin could not see past it. He did not think he wanted to. "Ah, yes." Ambrose turned left, and Justin followed.

"You may be wondering, Justin, why I had Professor Drake fetch you from your training. I must apologize for the inconvenience."

"Oh, it's no problem at all Professor! I mean -" he stuttered after the Headmaster threw him a sidelong glare, "you know what they say: 'A life wizard is always ready to spring into action!'" He nervously laughed, which only caused Ambrose to softly smile. I really am a loser. "I am wondering though, sir," he added a little more seriously, face reddening, "why we are here."

"I would be surprised if you didn't." The Headmaster sighed, turning a corner. Justin stumbled after him. "A long time ago, there used to be an Academy of Magic in a faraway land called Celestia - much like the one here in Ravenwood. This Academy did not teach common magic… the magic that you've grown to know about. It taught a much more cryptic, secretive magic. Only few, apart from the natives, were able to cultivate and master this new magic, and form three separate schools for it.

"Unfortunately, after centuries of its existence, the practitioners of these three schools grew more powerful, and with this newfound power came a great influence for corruption. Wizards and witches alike turned on each other, until, at last, those who practiced this magic destroyed themselves from within, and left Celestia a desolation."

Justin noticed that the Headmaster's steps were quickening, and with each and every step down the dark hall, his wandlight exposed tree roots that curled and snaked about the walls and ceiling. Eventually they were not surrounded by stone or brick anymore, but flanked by great oak branches that were the size of Justin's neck. They wound all about them, tangling within each other and weaving in and out of the remnants of the stone walls. Gulping softly, Justin asked: "What does this have to do with what we're doing?"

"Well, we - I - had thought that there were no longer any who were capable of practicing this magic."

They turned another corner. Oval light pierced through the haze of fog at the end of the tunnel, part of its grace sheltered by stray twigs that had yet to be tended to. They were almost there. Each step became laden with anticipation as Justin climbed the uphill tunnel, helping the Headmaster along the way.

"But I was wrong."

Presenting...

* * *

 **Starfall**


	2. Prologue

**Starfall**

* * *

Part I

 **Stardust**

 **13 years later…**

 **Prologue**

The old frowning lady at the end of the hall made Benjamin Soulstealer uncomfortable. It was not the kind of uncomfortable he would find wearing a specific sweater an aunt would have gifted on Christmas, or the kind of uncomfortable that forced him to eat his whole meal because he was at a friend's house (with the problem being that his friend's mother was a terrible cook, and her chicken smelled like wood and tasted like rubber). But it was the kind of uncomfortable that he could feel deep in the pit of his stomach… a concoction that had been given one extra ingredient to make it one problem too big, and it was just now about to bubble to the surface. No, Benjamin thought, he would have nothing to do with such business, especially when his lunch break was coming soon. He glanced at the small open tome floating over his desk that said: _Benjamin Soulstealer, Lead detective, open._

Nervously, Ben looked down the long panel of colleagues, and his stomach dropped. _They're all busy._ He quickly glanced at the frowning lady at the end of the hall. Her attention had caught ahold of his empty desk and she was making her way towards him. His face feeling hotter than any kind of fire magic, he quickly stood up, turning on his heels, half his mind wishing he had closed the tome on his desk shut.

But it had been too late. The old lady already knew he was open, and there was nothing he could do to dissuade her from coming to his desk. Her voice rang out loud and croaky, a very drawn out " _Heeeeeeeeeeey!"_

Ben put on his best customer pleasing face and turned back around. "Hello, ma'am. How may I help you today?"

"Meerena," she said flatly, twirling the unused umbrella in her hands.

"What? I'm sorry-"

"My name is Meerena," she snapped again, hanging her disgusting-looking black-brown purse on the back of her chair. "Meerena Brightflower."

Ben cleared his throat. "Well, Miss Brightflower-"

" _Miss Brightflower?"_ she asked heatedly. "If I didn't have any manners-"

"Ms. Brightflower, my apologie-"

" _Ms.?!_ Am I some heathen to you? Do you think I'm some lonely widow-"

"Mrs.!" Ben exclaimed enthusiastically, trying to change topics. "What may I do for you today, Mrs. Brightflower!"

"It's Ms.," she corrected, taking her time to sit in her chair.

Ben felt nonplussed. "Well, Ms. Brightflower-"

"Just call me Meerena, boy," she said, brushing the bottom of her skirt with her hands and clearing her throat.

"Well, Meerena," Ben said cautiously, "what may I do for you today?"

"Is this the Office of Miraculous Mysteries and Magical Mismanagement?" Meerena asked pointedly.

"Yes, ma'am, it is," Ben answered sadly. "Do you have something you wish to report?"

Now that Meerena Brightflower was only steps away, Ben had a harder time trying to force a smile. At first glance, she seemed like a soft woman who had, by her misfortune, gotten into too much trouble for her own good. But now she seemed like a strict old lady who loved pushing her crooked nose in places it should not have any business smelling. She wore a raggedy old brown cardigan that smelled like catnip, and her red glasses hung on the edge of her nose. "Who do you work for?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You deaf, boy? I asked who do you work for?"

"The Ravenwood Council, err -"

"And who's in charge of that?"

"Well, the staff is layered in a way so that nobody is _really-"_

She poked him with her umbrella, hard.

" _Ouch!"_

"Tell me."

"What you just did… I could have you removed here by security for!"

Meerena laughed. "Oh, trust me boy, you don't want to do that. Not with the thing I have to report to you. Now, who's in charge?"

Ben scratched his head and rubbed his shoulder where she poked him. "Well, in all respects and definitions, it would be Merle Ambrose, the Headmaster, but-"

"You need to go to him immediately after this, you hear me?" There was a sharper quality in her tone now that made Ben's spine straighten. "This is important."

"I'm not sure if I qualify-"

"Onto business." She cleared her throat before beginning. "Fourteen years ago a boy was dropped off at my doorstep. The only note that I received was 'treat him well.'"

"A boy?"

"Now," Meerena continued, looking all the more angry. "I have fed the boy, I have clothed the boy, and I have cared for the boy since… and you know what?"

Ben wanted to cringe with the way she delivered her monologue. He did not expect this to end pretty. She was slowly scooting towards the end of her chair as she kept talking, the rise in her voice becoming more and more froggy.

"At first he was a good boy, mind you," she said, "always behaving like the rest of the other orphans. He even made his own bed and washed his own clothes, something most of the others didn't do at his age.

"But then he turned seven, and I started finding odd things happening around the orphanage."

"Odd things?"

"Light bulbs bursting, candles flickering, my drapes and tapestries suddenly bursting into yellow and purple flames…"

"That is odd," Ben said meekly, trying to fit in his say.

"I'm not done," she quipped, throwing him a sharp look. He sunk back into his chair.

"Anyways, at first I thought it was just bad luck. I know I haven't been the greatest caretaker in the whole world. But when these things kept happening, I started to panic. Why would Lady Luck ever punish me? Poor old Meerena Brightflower…

"But then I started to hear voices coming from the boy's room at the top floor. Oh, I was scared all right, more scared than a firecat in a pool of water. People started coming to my doorstep, saying that strange lights were coming from his room. But every time I walked up to check on him, he was being just a normal kid. Nothing wrong, nothing evil, no voices."

Meerena sat back up into her chair, clearing her throat. "Now, I knew by this time he was an odd one… but to the extent of what I know now, I had no idea."

"Excuse me, Miss- Mrs.- Ms.! Meerena," Ben piped up, raising his hand a little. Her look was threatening, but it seemed like she was going to let him continue. "What's this boy's name, if I may ask?"

"Aaron."

"Okay… and do you know who dropped him off?"

"One of _you._ " She pointed a scraggly finger at him.

"Us? What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?"

"I'm not sure what I think you mean."

"Don't be short with me, boy."

"Err- did you mean Wizards?"

She nodded. "She was hooded when she came flying on her little angel wings. You all like to show off, don't you?"

"Were you able to see her face?"

"No," Meerena said. "She was wearing a hood of some kind."

"Okay."

"May I continue?"

Ben nodded.

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes. The boy, Aaron, was growing older, and all the while stranger things were happening around the orphanage. Other kids started to stay away from him, bully him even, and I would find him always locked up in his room, reading or sleeping or talking with weird voices. It was then when I started to commonly see his hair and eyes start to glow!"

"Glow?"

"Glow."

"Like, a sparkle glow?"

"No, boy. This isn't a horrifically written vampire series. Glow glow."

Ben took out a quill and paper. As he feared, this concoction was starting to bubble over the surface, and he'd have to be the one to catch all of the potion from exploding everywhere. "What colors did Aaron start to glow, and specifically where?"

"Purple and yellow, just like the flames on my drapes. Mostly in his hair and eyes, but sometimes his teeth can glow too."

"His teeth…"

"Yes, his teeth."

"And what color does his teeth glow?"

"I don't know, a deep violet? Indigo? Something like that… it's been awhile since it's happened."

"Okay," Ben said slowly, lowering his quill and pad down. Perhaps this was not something that had gone wrong at all. Perhaps the old lady was just a nut.

"You know what's the worst?" Meerena asked. "It felt like he didn't even know what was happening to him… he would sometimes just walk down the stairs with his hair purple and his eyes yellow and casually say hi, go get something from the refrigerator, and then go back upstairs! It's bizarre!"

"I see…"

"Well, it was starting to get bad for business. So I had to start locking him up in that room while other visitors came to the orphanage to adopt children. He scared off too many customers.

"Now, I run a no-magical orphanage off Autumnlight Avenue down in Unicorn way - make sure you get that down, boy. It'll be important. When I started to see odd things happening to him, I first did not look at him to blame. I just thought that maybe some of the other kids were playing a trick on him… some bout of misfortune came his way, or that he was cursed when he was a baby. I had no idea he was capable of possessing magic."

Ben picked up his quill and notepad again as his stomach sank. "Until?"

"Until he blew my house up!"

"Until he blew your house up…"

"Yes!"

"I don't see where this story is going-"

"He blew it up, I tell you! We had gone out, me and the other kids - they all did their chores early yesterday, all of them except for Aaron (he wouldn't come out of his room), so I decided to treat them to some Imp Ice cream down at Marty's Sweetshop. When we came back, the whole orphan house was in flames!"

"Ma'am…"

"I want compensation for my loss! That house has been in my family for generations! It was built by the great Marven Brightflower, a previous mayor of Wizard City! And that boy tore the whole thing down!"

"Alright, ma'am, one second." Ben scanned his notepad, absentmindedly brushing the feather of his quill against his cheek. "You said that his random glowing occurrences had stopped?"

She nodded.

"When was that exactly? And when did they start?"

"They started around a year ago, just after his twelfth birthday," she said. "They stopped just recently."

"Alright…" Ben said, finding himself staring blankly at the old woman. "I will make sure to send this to Merle Ambrose in a report. Your grievance will be filed and sorted in perhaps a week or two-"

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him near to her face. "Merle Ambrose sent this brat to me, you're going to give him back to him. _Now._ "

"Wait," Ben said. "You brought this kid with you? A magically unstable kid… in the heart of Wizard City?"

Meerena Brightflower only smiled at him, vengefully.


	3. ChapterI: An Expectedly Unexpected Visit

**Chapter I: An Expectedly Unexpected Visit**

Midday came with a whisper of soft sighs and scattered shafts of light. A blockade of clouds formed a small crown around the sun, letting patches of it fall over Wizard City in its rolling parade. Occasionally, these patches of light would touch the leaves of the grandfather tree, who towered over the rest of the island, lighting his foliage into a thousand speckling emerald flames before dispersing in a cloud rush. It had been a sight to see for the little orphan boy, Aaron, who was sitting under the shade of a much smaller oak tree.

Aaron was a timid boy who had a curious mind for things. He was short for his age of thirteen years, with fragile, soft, tawny hair that was so long it fell to his mid back. He had a pair of indigo eyes so dark they looked like the night sky, specked in bright silver. The specks were so sparse that one would not usually be able to tell how his eyes shimmered in a dim light without looking a second time.

Aaron was wearing his favorite pair of jeans - the only pair that he ever owned that could actually fit his slim waistline - and a very baggy t-shirt that drooped over his chest and made him look much bigger than he really was. But his jeans were definitely not how they looked at the beginning of the day when he first put them on. Neither was his shirt. There were blackened, cauterized holes that were apparent in both pieces of clothing. An even closer look showed that his hands were covered in ash and soot, and his cheeks were touched with a charcoal blush. That was because he had, quite literally, blown up his orphan home just after breakfast.

He did not understand what had happened, honestly. He remembered that he was very angry at Mother Mereena for not taking him with the others to Marty's Sweetshop, and then… well, as he was sitting on his bed, having a fit, the roof started to crumble from above, and the next thing he knew he was running for his life.

This was not the first time this happened to him. There had been several occasions where he got so mad something near him caught fire, or his sobbing tears had touched something and it burst in a flash of bright light. The only odd thing about these occurrences was that he could not pinpoint what area of magic these sudden outbursts belonged to. To be fair, he did not have the faintest clue about the schools of magic taught at Ravenwood. He was sure someone with magical knowledge could tell him, some witch or wizard he could have gone to.

But Mother Mereena had none of it. For years she kept him from going to Ravenwood to seek out help. All until… well…

 _Until I blew her house up,_ he thought glumly, nervously flexing his fingers. He averted his eyes from the grandfather tree, choosing to lay on his back instead, watching the clouds pass through the sky, and sighed.

Mereena always despised magic, mostly because she was born into a magical family and never was able to do it herself. Aaron couldn't really blame her for her contempt for magic, but he always thought it was unfair that she would take out her frustrations on him. It was hard enough as it was being different than all of the orphan kids. But she made it even worse.

At least she learned her lesson now. Aaron didn't really feel bad for blowing up her house. After all those years of keeping him away from Ravenwood, he knew something like this was bound to happen. Now, finally, he was going to see what was wrong with him, if there was anything wrong.

But he had been waiting for what seemed like an hour already. He had thought appealing to the wizarding administration here would have been a smoother process, but perhaps he was wrong. Not that he was complaining, of course… Meerena had tried as hard as she could to keep Aaron from coming to Wizard City. She probably had other intentions of course ( _maybe,_ he thought, _to torture me)_ , but the moment she had told him to wait for her here out in the commons was the moment he wanted to explore the rest of the place. The first of them being the tunnel right down the street there, leading to the magical academy of Ravenwood.

 _Ravenwood._ He twiddled with his thumbs nervously. He had wanted to go his whole life, and now that the opportunity was so close…

 _No._ Aaron shook his head. He shouldn't be putting himself in more trouble than he already was. The tunnel looked so tempting, and with the commons filled with a fragrant, midday air, he could only imagine all of the other prospective wizards touring around the academy grounds, watching demonstrations of storm magic as they felt the hairs on the back of their neck rise, or musing at a festival of faeries dashing around like dancing christmas lights set by a party of life wizards, or even peering at the mystic gaping hole where the death school had once been. The idea and sound of it all tickled him.

He sighed, took one last look at the tunnel, and plopped back down on his back, watching the clouds move slowly above him.

Until a familiar voice caused himself to jolt up in an array of confusion.

"... meddlesome, sour, children… waste of my _time_ …" the voice broke into a small scoffing chuckle.

Aaron turned his head towards the voice, and saw a tall, slender man, dressed in sun-yellow robes, striding across the street towards the tunnel to Ravenwood. He had a towering figure, and with how imposing he looked, Aaron could only guess that this man won previous Wizard City competitions for the best grimace. But the most glaring characteristic of this man was his abnormally large, shiny, bald head. Turned away, he looked like a man with a light bulb for a head. A large tome was cradled in the nook of his arm. It seemed he was holding it as if it were some lost child of his.

 _This was it._ Aaron had some eerie feeling that he had dreamed this in a dream. Memories were flashing in his head, and he felt suddenly very confused as to where he was at. Was this man familiar? Why? Questions spun like a hurricane in his thoughts, giving him a dizzy headache. One thing was possible: this man perhaps knew what was wrong with Aaron, and he knew at this point he wasn't going to pass it up by waiting for Mereena to come back and lie to him again.

Rising quickly to his feet, the young boy followed the man at a distance, carefully treading behind him, making sure he did not catch glimpse of his footsteps. He felt very confident in his sneaking skills because he would sneak downstairs from his locked tower room for late night snacks and treats all the time without Mereena catching him.

Aaron followed the bald man through the dark tunnel, and when he emerged out from the other side he was assaulted on all sides with the most beautiful, mystical, and magical experience he had ever felt. Upon stepping foot into Ravenwood, he had almost forgotten why he had come in the first place. To the immediate right of him stood a giant weeping willow, of which an iron grey storm cloud hung over, dishing out spears of jagged lightning all around it. To his left, a cherry blossom tree flourished with showering petals of pink and reds that formed a soft bed underneath it. A pale, silvery light had crowned a halo over its canopy, sifting over the trickling leaves as they fell slowly, gracefully, to the ground. The two trees were flanked by one tower and a larger stone building, like a keep, reaching far beyond his sight. Before Aaron knew it, he realized that he could not see the tops of the towers because they were buried in the evergreen leafy roof of the Grandfather tree himself, Bartleby.

He had heard so many stories and tales from the other orphan kids about Bartleby and his existence. And living in Unicorn Way had made such stories so tempting to come and see it for himself. Every morning Aaron woke to the sight of Bartleby's swirling leaves in the sky, as if they were jade clouds, arching over the rest of the isle. And every evening he would fall asleep to their gentle lull as they glistened against the sunset. And now that he was finally here…

Aaron took a step back. The Grandfather tree was sleeping himself, blissfully humming away as his branches moved at every breath he drew in. Bars of sunlight foraged through his green rooftop, setting dancing light to the cobblestone pathways that spiraled out in all different directions. The light itself was always moving, as Bartleby was.

The young boy felt bad now. It had seemed like nobody was here. In fact, it seemed as if all of Ravenwood was asleep. The other two trees he had spotted seemed to also have faces of their own, but they too were sleeping. He approached the one on the left before he realized what he was here for.

 _The man, where did he go?_ He had a hard time remembering which path the bald man had taken. Perhaps the path simply wound about the grandfather tree, and Aaron would soon find him.

He heard a door shutting on itself, and followed his ears to see that there was another sleeping tree, this time with a more stalwart web of branches, and another tower to its right. He could only guess this was where the noise was coming from. He slowly walked up the steps to the reinforced door of the tower and raised his arm to knock, hoping someone, or _something_ , would answer from inside. He rapped his knuckles against the small sigil of a yellow eye, encased in a triangle, etched on the heart of the door.

* * *

The Myth professor was newly burrowed in his tower when the strange knock came to his door. An array of papers and books were scrambled over his desk, with one book in particular over the rest cracked open, its yellowed pages touched with small, elegant, cursive handwriting. A lone candle tipped with a pale yellow flame sat at the very edge of his desk, carving a faint orb of light from within the darkness around him. Rimmed thinly by an ethereal royal blue, the flame seemed to flicker angrily at the knock.

As if agreeing with the candle flame, Cyrus grimaced. Closing the tome, he shelved it in the nook of his arm and rose, gathering the candle. He made his way through the gaping darkness. Clearing his throat, he swung the door open.

Midday flitted into the tower in long shafts of sunlight, temporarily blinding him. "What part about not being disturbed is-"

He stopped midway when his eyes adjusted, and saw that the frightened boy standing before him was not wearing wizard robes. In fact, he was dressed quite plainly, with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt too large for him. His shoelaces were untied, and he had light, tawny hair that was so long it fell to his mid back.

After studying the boy for a few seconds, he quirked his eyebrow impatiently. "It is obvious you are not enrolled here as a student, so what do you need? If you must be reminded, it is still summer, meaning classes are _not_ in session. And I preciously value my time. So out with it. What do you need?"

The boy only timidly stared at him, though. He seemed too afraid to speak. His eyes were a sparkling black, but Cyrus could not pinpoint exactly what color they were, given the lighting. After a lengthy moment of Cyrus glaring, the boy finally piped up. "I- I thought you could help... I d-don't know what's happening to me, I'm not sure…"

"And I do not have time for this," Cyrus replied, shutting the door quite loudly in the boy's face. He was not going to waste his time guiding prospective students across campus, especially on one of his few days off. _Have Mr. Lincoln be in charge of such trivial matters,_ he thought. _Yes,_ Cyrus thought, smiling to himself, patting and rubbing his book. _Let him be useful for once._ Cyrus was worth more than a tour guide. He was the head professor to one of the most prodigious schools taught at Ravenwood, and he would keep himself to such expectations. _The boy can easily find his way back, there is only one tunnel that leads-_

The door in front of him started to hum and glow a bright periwinkle, filling the dark tower room with a radiating warmth. Cyrus stepped back, dropping the candle, his hand flicking to the wand holster at his waist. The wood slowly started to melt, and the professor soon found himself staring down at his own tower door in a pool of glowing goo, the young boy he had just shut it on standing on the other side, timidly smiling.

" _What did you-"_

But it had been too late. Before Cyrus even stepped forward, things from within his tower started to gravitate to the young boy. One of them, most importantly, being the book in his hands. He struggled, tugging and hugging the book to his chest, but it was to no avail. The book slipped from his fingers, assuming the same pale, pink glow that the door had taken before it melted. And just like the door, the book, as well as a couple of other objects, started to melt, puddling in a pool next to the melted door.

"You _insolent,_ _little…_ " Cyrus felt his face get hot, reaching for the wand at his waist, pulling it out. "Do you have the faintest idea of what you have just done? Of what was in my hands? _Of what you just destroyed?_ This was a tome dating the history of the entire _Drake_ family - my bloodline - for at least _three hundred years_!"

The boy was still too shocked to talk, his dark eyes darting between the glowing pink pool of goo and Cyrus' wand.

* * *

"He was supposed to be here," Mereena said angrily.

"I… see…" Benjamin Soulstealer said, looking down at the patch of grass the old lady was bending over. He eyed the woman curiously, and was wondering whether or not she was actually crazy.

"You don't believe me."

"I never said that!" He exclaimed, throwing his arms up defensively. The old woman was too smart for her own good though…

"That little _rat!_ He is in so much trouble when I find out where he's gone to… making me look like a fool in public, I will not have it!"

Benjamin tried to clear his throat. "Ma'am."

"He just could not stay in one place, could he?! No! Never in his life has he ever listened to me! Not for an instance!"

"Ma'am…"

"He could not have gotten far… I know him. He would do anything to thwart me! Just to play practical jokes on poor old Mereena!"

"Miss… Mrs… Mereena!" Benjamin finally said, feeling his face getting hotter and hotter by the second. He tapped her shoulder violently to get her attention.

" _What do you want!"_ She threw her arms out, turning around angrily as her purse punched him square in the nose, sending him flopping over the grass. But the moment she turned around, she too saw where the young boy had gone.

Or at least, where he was now.

It was the first time Benjamin had seen this boy in his life, and yet he knew in a heartbeat that he was going to be the biggest nuisance he'd ever have to deal with. Not only was the boy walking ashamedly across the street, he was accompanied by none other than Benjamin's own mentor, Cyrus Drake, the head Professor of the Myth School of Magic, whose face and bald head were redder than that of a drake's flame.

Benjamin knew at that moment he wasn't going to be able to eat for the rest of the day.

* * *

Aaron spent the rest of that afternoon stored up in what the others referred to as the "Headmaster's Tower." He spent an uncomfortably long amount of time sitting on a soft, padded chair, staring into creepy, wide, yellow eyes that belonged to what was apparently a talking owl. The owl did not seem to be in a great mood, because the only thing he had said to Aaron the whole time he was in there was that "My name was Alpha," "Yes, I am indeed able to talk," and that "No, I am not going to hoot for you."

They spent the rest of the time in silence, listening to the booming voices of an old lady and a grumpy professor through the wall.

Aaron honestly did not understand why he felt so lopsided and dizzy. He didn't understand anything that was happening to him at all. The others, the grumpy professor and Mereena, as well as the young magical administrative guy, they were all downstairs talking to the Headmaster Merle Ambrose. Aaron had only seen the Headmaster in portraits and paintings, but never once was he able to lay an eye on the Headmaster, even when he was being escorted up here to wait.

The loud voices eventually fell to a quiet hush, and eventually the door to the tower opened, where the sneering blue eyes of the bald man peered up at Aaron. His shiny bald head disappeared behind the door again to more whispers and urgent hushes. Then the bald headed man popped his head back in again. And then the door shut.

The talking owl seemed to be almost asleep until a sudden light in the air burst in front of him. He jolted, fluffing his feathers out, hooting loudly.

"What's wrong?" Aaron asked, nearly jumping out of his chair.

"One sec, kid. Headmaster wants to see me." The owl disappeared in a plume of white feathers.

For a moment Aaron thought the owl had blown up. But not even a second later, he reappeared exactly where he had vanished, on the small wooden perch above a desk full of papers. The owl had a different, sudden look to him, one Aaron knew he did not have previously. The owl was looking down at Aaron as if he were some kind of trophy, and it made the young boy even more uncomfortable.

"Good news, kid," the owl said, spreading his wings out to stretch them.

Aaron felt apprehensive. Was the owl being sarcastic? It seemed very much like his nature to. "Good news? It'd be the first I'd hear today," he said glumly.

Alpha smirked. "Trust me, I think you'll like this. The old hag doesn't want you living with her anymore."

Aaron's spirits seemed to lift for a second. "That means I don't have to be in the orphanage anymore… but," he realized suddenly, hanging his head. "Where will I go?"

"Well, that's the second part of the good news. The Headmaster has offered you enrollment into Ravenwood School of Magical Arts."

Aaron felt his ears pound like his heart did in that moment, and shook his head in disbelief. "Wh- what? How?"

"Headmaster doesn't want me saying anything right now, but… he definitely wants you to come to Ravenwood so you can learn how to control and hone your talents. He says that he's offered a dorm already for you to move into."

Aaron was so surprised he couldn't move. Was this all some sort of teasing dream? Was he awake? He almost felt the need to pinch himself…

"Obviously, I know this is a lot to take in," Alpha said. "So the Headmaster is giving you a couple of days to consider his offer. If I were you, I'd honestly take it. Living with that woman seems like an absolute nightmare."

Aaron looked around the Headmaster's tower. Everything seemed more surreal then. The stacks of papers, the corners of bookshelves and rolls of parchment… the array of irregular looking silver instruments spread out across the room. The only thing that seemed normal was the small cone of light that fell into the room through a glass window at the top of the tower that gave way to a beautiful view of the commons area.

The young boy shook his head again, looking up to the owl. "Wait… I have so many questions."

The owl sighed. It was obvious Aaron was annoying him, but he had to press on. "Ask, kid. Hurry. I want to sleep. Daytime is sleep time for me. You picking up what I'm putting down?"

Aaron ignored the owl. "Why didn't the Headmaster tell me personally that he wants me to come? Why should I trust you?"

The owl laughed. "Merle Ambrose is a busy man, and you're a kid. You'll have to excuse him. And I'm his first owl. The only one who will ever be close to him. I do his most important tasks. But he thought you'd be cautious. Here." The owl searched his feathers with his beak, plucking out something that seemed to be an envelope of sorts. "Read it." He tossed it to Aaron, who caught it quickly and unsealed it to read:

" _Dear Aaron,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Ravenwood School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment for your first year (Or Novice year)._

 _Term begins the 17th of August. We await your response no later than August 1st._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _ **Professor Falmea**_

 _ **Head Recruitment Chair"**_

Aaron set the letter down gently on his lap.

"August first is a few days away still, so you have some time to consider. Obviously, now that you've made such a scene in the commons, there'll be magical academies all across the Spiral that will want you. So be expecting a _lot_ of letters and visits in the next few days."

"Me?" Aaron asked, almost snorting. "Why would they want me? Even if I am capable of possessing some kind of magic, what would they want with me?"

At that the owl only gave his little annoying smirk, and replied: "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"So… wait. I blow up my orphanage, set fire and melt half of the things in the bald man's-"

"Professor Drake's-"

" _Professor Drake's-_ tower, destroy his family book, and I get enrolled into Ravenwood beacause of it?"

After a few seconds, Alpha nodded. "Yeah. Pretty much."

* * *

 **A/N: WOW! okay so long time no see. Sorry about the long wait! Life can be crazy sometimes. But anyways, for those of you who are still following this, I'm back baby! Back and ready to get this story kindling again. This first chapter felt really clunky, and I really don't like switching povs much in the middle of a chapter, but I feel like, at least in the beginning for me, I will have to switch sometimes between povs just to capture the whole feel of the story. Eventually, when I get things rolling, I won't have to switch so much between chapters, but just simply use different chapters as pov standpoints for all of my characters.**

 **ANYWAYS! Thanks to all of those who are reading and supporting! Comments are always welcome! And I hope you guys are strapped in, because this is gonna be a ride!**


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